


Hope in a China Teacup

by Dumbothepatronus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Miscarriage, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Hogwarts, Suicidal Thoughts, The Veil, teacup - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dumbothepatronus/pseuds/Dumbothepatronus
Summary: After the death of his wife, Draco Malfoy finds himself completely alone and spending way too much time with the mysterious veil that separates him from his love.Please see warnings in A/N. Platonic Draco/Luna.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Hope in a China Teacup

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Strong themes of depression, suicidal thoughts/intent. Mentions of (previous) miscarriages/infertility and (previous) character death.

Draco Malfoy hadn’t always been obsessed with death. 

In his youth, he kept it far, far away; on the opposite side of a war, at the bottom of a deep vault filled with gold. 

Now, he couldn’t stand to be farther from it than a long, slender finger’s length. For it was only when he was standing there, his breath fogging up the space between him and his love, that he felt anything but empty. 

With a satisfied sigh, he sank to the hard stone floor of the deepest depths of the Ministry’s catacombs. Nobody ever came here; well, nobody except for him and Luna. His shoulders slumped towards his knees, and his elbow bumped against something round and hard in his robe pockets. He reached inside, let his fingers wrap around the porcelain, let his thumb trace the handle.

His eyes traced the room, black stone wall to black stone wall, but it was only a formality; the only sounds were hushed whispers spoken for unseen ears. Satisfied, he pulled the teacup out of his robes. 

The monument itself was imposing—parallel columns of rough-hewn stone, reaching towards the darkness and forming into an arch. Not even a pleasing stone, either; these rocks had none of the sparkle of granite or luster of quartz. These stones were hard, charcoal gray. If his mother weren’t rotting away in Azkaban, she’d clutch her pearls at the sight of it. “My word,” she’d say. “Someone needs to fire their stonecutter. This work is atrocious!”

But then, Mother had loved her polished surfaces and smooth edges. Everything perfect, everything pure. Ironically, her obsession with tradition had been the Malfoy line’s undoing. 

Draco rotated the teacup so the eerie blue light that hung like mist within the arch reflected on its polished china, revealing the blue floral print Astoria had so adored. 

She was so close, only a hand’s-breadth away—close enough to clink two teacups together. Some nights her voice whispered through the mist, but never to him. It still didn’t stop him from trying.

“Awful weather we’ve been having. You’d hate it.” He gripped the teacup‘s handle, tipped it forward in a salute. “I wonder if it rains there, on the other side. I wonder if the thunderclaps wake you from your sleep like they did when you were here.” 

The thought was upsetting, though he supposed she wasn’t alone there. No, Astoria would be surrounded. Surrounded by her parents, by her grandparents, by the children that had died in her womb. If there was thunder, there were plenty of arms to envelope her.

Perhaps that was why she never spoke to him. It wasn’t lonely there; not like it was here. He ran his fingers over the rim of the cup. If he squinted, he could see the spot her red lipstick had stained every day of their marriage until the day she succumbed to the blood curse. 

“I saw Potter today. Did you know he’s got a terrible receding hairline? Nearly as bad as Crabbe’s.” 

Astoria used to hate it when he ragged about Potter. Apparently it was unbecoming for a wizard of his status to be hung up on childhood rivalries. With any luck, his comment would bother her enough that she’d yell at him through the veil.

“Baldness reflects honesty, you know. With no reason to hide, the body lets go of its superficial covering.” 

Draco jumped. The teacup slipped through his fingertips, and he had to fumble to keep it from crashing to the floor. “Luna? I didn’t hear you coming.”

“It’s hard to hear the living when you’re focused on the dead.” 

Impossibly, she was already sitting cross-legged next to him. The veil’s ghostly glow lit up her eyes and the tiny wrinkles around them, making her look even more ethereal than usual. Draco pushed his fingers through his hair, but they caught on the tangles and grease. How long had it been since he’d showered? Three days? Four? No wonder Astoria was ignoring him.

“She can’t hear you,” Luna said, her voice as quiet as the whispers that drifted through the frigid underground air. 

Draco grunted. 

“It’s probably not allowed, you coming down here. If my supervisor finds out…” She shrugged. 

Guilt clawed at Draco’s belly. He hated to cause Luna trouble; she was always so supportive, never judgmental. But if it hadn’t been for Astoria’s insistence on donating a closet-full of artifacts from the Malfoy’s collection to make some slight effort to absolve him of his many war-time sins, he never would have discovered the veil’s existence. It felt like fate; Astoria’s benevolence had led him here, and now it was his only connection to her. 

Draco caught Luna’s eyes, but quickly turned away. The compassion bleeding from them was overwhelming.

So he left. But he kept the teacup in his pocket.

Every time his thumb brushed against it, every time it bounced against his thigh was a reminder. Not that he needed it. The gray of the veil called to him like an unquenchable thirst; he could think of nothing else. After three days of torture, his resistance crumbled. Not even guilt could keep him away.

Back when life held meaning, Draco had been an excellent timekeeper. But as the air shifted and Luna settled in beside him in the entrancing blue glow, it occurred to him that he had no idea how long he’d been sitting there. The china teacup made a soft clink as he placed it on the floor; there would be no accidents today. Loneliness had shattered his heart enough.

“Six hours.”

“I’m sorry?” Luna’s words made no sense, which was fitting. There was no sense in living, much less in words.

“You’ve been here six hours. I’d have come earlier, but I had to finish my shift.”

If a book detailing the veil’s secrets existed, Draco would have long since consumed it. Unfortunately, even the Malfoy libraries contained not even a page, not even a chapter. The veil was shrouded in mystery no matter how much money you had. But he knew one thing—Astoria’s wasn’t the only voice that wandered through the arch. 

Draco’s fingers and trembled against the sides of the china cup. Charity Burbage’s whispers filled the air, and her death scraped against his mind. He’d done nothing to stop it. It should have been enough to send him running towards the elevator, but he remained glued to the floor.

Maybe if he spoke, the distraction would banish the memories. “Astoria hasn’t been by yet.”

Luna smiled as if he’d said he’d be late for afternoon tea. “Do you expect her to?”

He stared at the lipstick stain on the teacup’s rim. 

“She’s moved on, Draco. She won’t always be available.”

Maybe she had. Maybe she had moved on, but Draco hadn’t. He’d sell his soul to have one more hour with Astoria.

One day, Luna appeared from the darkness beside Draco just in time to snatch his arm away from the blue glow. “It’s not your time. When it’s your time, she’ll come for you.”

He stared at the swirling blue mist. “Why can’t I decide? Why can’t I be the one who goes to her?”

“It isn’t that simple. Your soul could get trapped here, stuck to complete its unfinished business. If you become a ghost, you’ll never pass beyond the veil.”

Draco grumbled. His unfinished business laid on the other side of this frigid stone arch. He’d come back tomorrow, then. He’d come back and step through as soon as he got there, before Luna could stop him.

But the next day, Luna was already there. 

“I can sense the desperation in your soul, but you don’t want to do this. Come with me. Let me help you.”

He had half a mind to turn on his heel and storm out of the room, but even in his anger, he couldn’t bear to do it. He sat aggressively close to Luna, his knee banging hers as he dropped to the ground. 

“I brought something today,” she said. From the pocket of her robes, she pulled out a teacup. A pattern of tiny radishes circled the rim, and a creature he didn’t recognize—a bulky body and an enormous horn where its face should be—decorated the inside. Draco raised his eyebrows. 

“If you think I’m going to sit here and have a tea party with you, I—” Luna reached out and plucked Astoria’s teacup up from the floor. How dare she? But what she did next was worse. From the pocket of her robes, she produced a crystal-studded flask and poured its contents into each of their cups. Draco’s arms crossed over his filthy robes, but Luna didn’t appear to notice. She settled Astoria’s teacup onto the floor in front of him.

Was it the light from the veil that made the liquid appear blue, or was Luna trying to slip him a potion? It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t drink it.

“Astoria wouldn’t want this for you.” Luna cradled her ridiculous radish cup in the palms of her hands. “If I were her, I’d be staying far away. I wouldn’t want to encourage you.”

“What are you saying?”

“If you want to hear your wife, you must get better first.”

A timid flame of hope ignited in Draco’s belly. “Then she’ll speak to me?”

Luna shrugged. “It can’t hurt.”

Draco stared at the teacup; the blue patterns on the side, the blue light reflecting off the blue potion. Against the lifeless gray floor, walls, and arch itself, it shone like a beacon to his care-worn eyes.

Slowly, he lifted it to his lips. If he stepped away from this veil, would it make Astoria happy? Could she sense his misery? He closed his eyes and let the liquid wash down his throat. 

The sickly sweet syrup of hellebore stuck to his tongue, followed by the sharp earthiness of porcupine quills, and finally the unmistakable ethereal notes of unicorn horn. Draught of Peace, just as he’d suspected. The sharp emptiness melted away until all he felt was the love for his wife he still held in his heart.

Draco eyed the exit. Draught of Peace was easy enough to brew; he’d just never had the desire to fight for himself. But for Astoria? For Luna? For them, he would work his way out of this soul-rending grief.

Luna stood. “Come on; I’ll walk you up. I don’t want to catch you down here again.”

And the strangest part, the most miraculous part, was that she didn’t. 


End file.
